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simplegenius042 · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday, My OC's As A Color Quiz & Meet My Character

Tagged by @spookyrares

Tagging @derelictheretic @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @imogenkol @noodlecupcakes @direwombat @voidika @cassietrn @adelaidedrubman @aceghosts @josephseedismyfather @icecutioner @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @cloudofbutterflies92 @carlosoliveiraa @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @minilev @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @g0dspeeed @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @softtidesworld @florbelles and @yokobai

WIPs for Life, Despair & Monsters and The Silver Chronicles, this Quiz for the Wings And Horns main cast, and lastly Meet My OC template for two OCs from A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. As you can probably guess, this post does have NSFW content in it. You can read the WIPs, quiz results and find the template below the cut:

First WIP is for my The Invitation WIP (AU?) called An Invite To Wine And Dine. This is either a flashback or a prologue, where Evie Jackson officially meets one peculiar Sir Enigma Malvolio. Or what I'd like to call; five minutes of semi-normalcy before the Horrors(TM) struck. Only warning here is my unfunny running gag, take a gander of what it is:

With her shift over, Evie gave a swift goodbye to Grace and made her way out of the building. She's certain Grace knew something was up, but thankfully gave her some space.

Evie appreciated it.

Out the door and in the afternoon sun, the waitress tried to keep composure over the rising grief that choked at her throat. Her breathing stuttered as she wiped at her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from dropping down.

Crying outside her workplace wasn't what she wanted to do today, but her sorrow seemed to disagree. Sniffling, she turned to make haste back to her apartment, only to be stopped by a voice she'd recently gotten acquainted with.

"Jolly Ho, Ms Jackson!" Mr. Malvolio greeted from behind her. Evie turned around as soon as she had been addressed by the man.

He was leaning his shoulder against a pillar, his rounded handle cane acting as extra support. Or maybe it was for show, she couldn't be sure.

Facing him, she could see he was wearing the same dark blue tuxedo suit he had been wearing the night prior. Now in the sunlight and not in the dim-lighted event, she could could see that his hair was indeed dark, as well as his eyes. And now that they face-to-face, she was surprised by the confirmation that, yes; Mr. Malvolio was, in fact, a head or so shorter than Evie herself.

He grinned with a friendly and overly excited demeanor, though slightly better than a lecherous gaze, it was still oddly off-putting to Evie. She took note that he was older than her; late 30s at the least, maybe forties though.

Even so, she acknowledged his presence with a surprised, "Mr. Malvolio?"

"Please, Ms Jackson, call me Sir- oh," Malvolio paused, grin gone and lips thinned as his eyes narrowed, inspecting her face, "Uh, um, not to alarm you dear, but, hmm, your face seems a little... wet?"

Despite his clumsy observation, Evie swiftly wiped at her face, and not wanting to share her troubles with a stranger, quickly said, "Oh, uh, that's nothing."

Mr. Malvolio pursed his lips, scrutinizing her features, "Are you certain Ms Jackson?"

"Yeah," Evie lied, smacking her lips together, "I just had some tap water spray at me. Didn't have time to dry it off when my shift ended."

To her surprise, Mr. Malvolio didn't question her shitty story, and instead seemed to believe her, "Is that why you're in such a rush? I must warn you dear, with that much haste, you might trip over your legs, and the pavement's quite concrete," Mr. Malvolio gave a small chortle as he added, "Scrapes and bruises wouldn't do so well on your fine skin."

Evie, in spite of being confused on whether that was a sort of jab or some weird form of compliment from the man, gave a half-hearted laugh back, ignoring his words in favor of the burning question, "Uh, Mr. Malvolio, sorry to pry but hadn't you said you'd be making your way back home?"

"Eh, we missed the plane," Mr. Malvolio answered, chuckling humorlessly, "Honestly, American airports are the worst. So Denise and I will be extending our stay for a little while longer in good old New York."

Mr. Malvolio gestured far back behind him, and Evie spotted his bodyguard, adorning a black and red suit contrasting her employer's, watching them from under the shade of a cafe umbrella, the dark-tinted sunglasses still covering her eyes.

That makes some sense, Evie thought, but wondered, But why are you here?

As if reading her mind, Mr. Malvolio added, "And I wanted to personally thank you for such a delightful evening. As well as saving Denise from her nut allergy. She may not look like it... nor will she ever admit it... but deep down she is grateful, as am I."

Evie took another glance at Denise, and even from their far distance, she could tell the only expression she could read on Denise's face was one of apathy.

Regardless though, she smiled in thanks of Mr. Malvolio's gratitude, which seemed so sincere. Maybe he was merely giving platitudes to pat himself on the back, or uphold a reputation. But she cherished what she could.

"That's rather kind of you Mr. Malvolio," Evie stuttered out, feeling like a damn that was cracking, ready to burst. Grace was right, she realised, Maybe my self-esteem's needed a boost from kindness for some time now.

"Please Ms Jackson, it's Sir En-," he pauses, face scrunched and unreadable, as he quizzically asks, "Uh, Ms Jackson, are you certain a tap is the cause of those tears?"

Evie wiped again once more at her face, though she stopped when Mr. Malvolio offered a handkerchief.

She accepted it, bringing the clean cloth to dry her face of the tears. Mr. Malvolio observed her with curiosity, and she absentmindedly wondered if he had never seen a person cry before.

With a small thanks she handed the handkerchief back, which he surprisingly accepted back into his breast pocket. He gave what she assumed to be a comforting smile. She opened her mouth to say something- perhaps an apology, maybe a hasty goodbye- but could not bring the words out when he asked with surprising gentleness, "What terrible loss has afflicted you to bring forth such sadness, my dear?"

Evie hesitated, a moment long enough for her to consider whether telling this man; practically a stranger, about the woes that drown her. One glance to his mature face marked her answer though.

With a shaky breath, Evie revealed to who would be the second person this month of her troubles.

"My mother recently passed away," she told Mr. Malvolio, whose very expression shifted from gentle to unreadable once more.

Here's more of my FC5 Bloodborne AU WIP, where werewolves are involved in Hope County and not in the usual fun way, no these things legitimately massacre people and are beyond complex thought comprehension. Paul and Silva established the Hunters who go on annual nightly hunts to downsize the werewolf population with Eden's Gate help... which has lasted for almost ten years now so you can guess how well that's doing. Also, Faith is a Vicar because Paul's previous one, Obadiah Teal, turned into a big scary werewolf (that breathed fire) [Originally this vicar was named Laurence as reference to Bloodborne but ultimately found a character of my own from Paul's lore to play the part. Obadiah was Paul's lover back on the Archipelagos in The Silver Chronicles but here he's a lost lenore (and future boss fight) in this AU. Apologies for any confusion]. Witness Vicar Faith as she prepares herself for an evening Paul vaguely bothered to warn her about while doing some introspection, and how she yearns for Silva's words of assurances... and, uh, ahem, touch. CW: Minor reference to past suicidal idealization (because Faith), minor mentions of past drug-use (because Faith), maybe two descriptions implying lack of self-care, sexual themes, and, eh, explicit horniness? But it's like a sad longing for intimacy??? I tried my best at keeping it consistent. Anyway, read below:

Green mirrored green, a pair of eyes gazing into the same reflected pair of eyes. Lifeless. Dull. Like her Angels had once been before the Bliss became what it is today.

Faith scrutinized the petite figure before her; in nothing but her undergarments, light brown hair flowing freely over her shoulder, the jewelry and veil she would adorn on herself laid unattended on the vanity, holding close the white shawls and garb that made up her image, which seemed so ragged now. Of age and constant use? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Though, thankfully, her clothes condition were not as dire as the hand-me-down dress Joseph once gifted her, for what little time she owned it.

She wondered what had happened to it. She must have given it back to her brothers at some point, when it became clear she'd have no use to it. Had Joseph kept it, stored it away for safe keeping until the day he believed she'd return from this role? Was it collecting dust in some closet, discarded and forgotten, out of sight and out of mind? Like them? Or how she was now?

Had it been given to someone else? erupted a vile thought, Someone newer, younger and prettier?

When had been the last time her brothers had even visited her.

"When had been the last time he visited you, nuora?" Paul had softly, wearily asked her out of the blue once, as they stood side by side watching her brothers leave from the monastery's window after their last meeting.

Meetings of which were becoming thinner and thinner between duration. Enough time to greet, discuss progress of plans, then leave for weeks and months on end. Never enough to simply sit down and catch up on lost time.

Faith had given Paul a response full of puzzlement, one only meant to acknowledge the surface level of his question. One meant to evade a true answer. She couldn't remember what exactly it was though. Something along the lines of "what do you mean?" or "but we just did, silly?" or whatever mask she had to hide behind.

But she had found it to be all for naught, for it was naive of her to believe that Paul, of all the people she's met, would fall for such cheap tricks. And yet, he cared enough to rephrase his question, "When was the last time he visited just for you?"

Faith hadn't given an answer then. She couldn't find one now.

She huffed, and began to dress, slipping on the garb and shawls that made up Vicar outfit. Clothing of which felt so familiar to her body, as it had been amongst the most common clothes she's worn for nearly seven years now. The sleeves hugged her arms just as the garb fit her frame.

She decided to tighten the Vicar's loose attire last, focused on the jewelry and veil next. She pinned the jewels and gems along the hem of her shawls, the brooches strewn above her chest, and finally the pendant necklace, the most important piece of a Vicar, around her neck. Something that she would usually do instead of Faith.

From close behind her, long and strong arms would snake around to the front of her, to bring the cold touch of the pendant against the warmth of her exposed collarbone's skin.

It was not only the pendent that her Hunter would assist her in, but the laces behind the Vicar's back. Though, Faith mused, my adoring Silva would often struggle to keep on task in favor of more... pleasurable distractions.

Faith's lips curved up into a small smile, the Vicar gazing into the mirror of her not-yet-tightened and loose clothing. She felt an ache within her, and closed her eyes. Not to neglect her duties, but to... indulge, especially before tonight comes.

"You're a Vicar now, after all," Silva had once told her in their very room, sultry voice dripping with barely restrained desire, months after her inauguration and setting up this routine with this... new teasing and exciting tension between them. The ghost of her breath trailed along Faith's exposed neck, like little kisses, causing goosebumps to ripple along the skin. Silva's lips were close enough that it wouldn't take much distance for her to press down on her flesh.

She remembered how bated her breath was, the blood running across her cheeks. Silva must have noticed the red, as she seemed more enamored from the mirror's reflection. Hands on Faith's shoulders, Silva's lips whispered into the shell of her ear, "Here, as our Vicar, you can do as you please. And the Old Hunters will obey. Obadiah forgot that. So have the recruits. But a first hunter, like myself, has not, and will not. We are not meant to restrain our own nature. As long we do not shirk our duties in favor of overindulgence..."

Faith shivered in pleasure as Silva's lips grazed her skin, kissing along her jaw and cheek. Faith sighed, pleased by the contact. She turned her head to face Silva. Her hair was dark and skin were darker than hers, and so were her clothes. Vibrant green orbs gazed into the shining silver of the Chief Hunter's protege. Silva was Enlightened, just like her father.

"...Then we will be able to share our passions without incident," Silva stated, staring into Faith's eyes, slowly closing in

In those eyes were a beckoning; a need for something human to anchor her to this Earthly plane. A Hunter who wanted a Vicar. She, the necessary violence that bordered on the line between primal darkness and humanity whose insight of the world's darkest shades far exceeded Joseph's own... and her, the Monastery's only guiding light that gave promises of hope for seeing the next dawn, knowing yet clueless all the same, in contrast to Silva's sight.

They couldn't be so different from each other. So much contrast that the idea of any sort of union should baffle Faith.

And yet...

Faith gave one glance to Silva's tempting lips, and accepted the invite, crashing her own against the Hunter's. The latter recovered quickly, and pushed all her passion, all her want, all her needs into this one connection. Faith had hummed delightfully, and gasped when Silva's teeth bit down on her bottom lip teasingly.

Shamefully, or maybe shamelessly, she had moaned, which only encouraged Silva's endeavor. Faith, struck with the need to touch, caressed Silva's face, pressing her palm to hold Silva's face.

Faith was almost surprised by how quickly- how greedily Silva leaned into the contact. She smiled into the Hunter's lips though, amused and pleased; the strongest, most dangerous and powerful woman alive, was nothing but mush in the palm of Faith's hand.

Jacob would call this weakness. John would call this lust.

Faith believed this to be worth worshiping.

She broke away from the kiss, hand still on Silva's face. The eye contact they shared spoke in clear volumes of what they both wanted. She could imagine that this wasn't what Joseph had in mind when he sent her over here. Likelihood was, he wouldn't want her to discard the principles he passed down to her even if it meant a rival's destruction.

Faith knew she could stop this. That she could cut this connection from the bud before she defiled Joseph's Word any further.

She knew this, and still curled her hand behind Silva's head, rolling her shoulders so her loosened garb could shrug down to expose more skin. Faith tilted her head so Silva's lips could reach her naked neck, inviting her hunter to ravage at the skin, with promises of more.

With her hand around Silva's head, she guided the other woman to where she needed her attention to be.

Faith traced a hand over her neck, collarbone and covered shoulder. She envisioned the sensual kisses, wet lips pecking at her skin and the loving bites that brought her euphoria.

She trailed that hand down her chest, using her spare to grip her hip, re-enacting from memory how Silva's hands caressed her body, feeling up every curve, every spot, everywhere she could touch.

She hummed, shallow breaths escaped her lips, ecstasy coiled as one hand palmed at her breast, while the other reached lower and lower.

Silva's fingers brushed at her Vicar's clothed sex, and with little self-control to hold her back, the Hunter began to massage Faith's clit. Her lips and teeth continued to cover Faith's skin with a Hunter's affection. Soft murmurs of praise under a native tongue faintly spoken each time Silva tasted the Vicar's flesh, leaving faint bruises, but withholding the strength to break it.

Faith had extended her arms to steady herself against the mirror as Silva had her chase after a high that she was sure no drug could compare to. Her skin felt ablaze with euphoria, a sensation Silva had once admitted rivaled a Hunter's bloodlust during nightly hunts.

Those words had elicited a smug pride that she's sure she'd be shamed for if she expressed it within the Project's Compound.

Grinding against Silva, she could feel the other woman's own excitement digging behind her, and though her actions motivated the Hunter to please her Vicar, it was apparent she was focused on bringing out Faith's pleasure first.

Her legs shook as Silva further stimulated the sensations of her body, Faith's rapid breaths replaced by loud moans of building ecstasy, as Silva's hands massaged her breast and rubbed at her clit and cover her flesh in hickeys.

Faith could feel herself getting closer, strands of hair stuck to her forehead, the pleasure Silva's helped her build up accumulating, with a bated breath, a final release-

"Vicar Faith?" a rough voice belonging to a hunter called out from behind the door with a knock, snapping the woman in question out of her feverish state. The Hunter's voice, who Faith realized belonged to Nadi, continued, "You've been getting ready for a while now. Are you alright?"

Faith, though suffering from irritation, disappointment and a lack of satisfying conclusion to her personal indulgences, managed to reply while only sounding a little breathless, "Yes, I'm fine Hunter Nadi. Just struggles with back laces."

Nadi didn't sound unconvinced from Faith's response as the Hunter stated, "Very well ma'am. I'd just like to inform you that the attendants are being gathered up for this evening's service. And, uh, the Chief Hunter wanted me to add that one of... Eden's Gate' vehicles had arrived?"

Faith felt her blood run cold, and after a momentary silence, Nadi asked, "Vicar Faith, out of curiosity... where will you be going?"

Faith swallowed, letting out a calming exhale as she assuredly said, "Nowhere but here Hunter Nadi. I may have to make an errand to the Convent though, but I'll be escorted by your fellow hunters. Inform the Project members that I will not be leaving the Monastery for tonight."

Hunter Nadi accepted the answer with a small "of course ma'am" and Faith heard the woman's footsteps became fainter and fainter.

Faith huffed out in relief, looking herself in the mirror. She was a little red, and a bit hot and bothered. While the interruption was certainly personally undesirable, she was glad Nadi informed her of their now leaving guests.

Pulling the loose laces behind her to tighten the Vicar's garb, she reached for the final piece; the veil, adorned with a crown of flowers and three red gems. She always wondered what significance this Vicar garb held. It wasn't too dissimilar from a bride's dress, but far more intricate and detailed (and time consuming to put on) than the dress Joseph gifted her.

Paul said that it was designed to make her look ethereal to their converts, trustworthy and responsible, someone to seek guidance and find hope in.

Meanwhile Silva's only interest in the Vicar's garb was to get Faith out of it.

Not that I minded it, she thought coyly.

Many nights she spent in the other women's chambers, or they stayed in her own, pursuing a fiery passion after an uneventful service, or mending the Hunter's wounds after a long hunt. Then there were the quiet moments, where the only intimacy either shared was an embrace.

Neither could keep their hands off one another; touch was as important as their words, letting one know the other was still present.

Which was far from what Joseph had wanted her to do. Her role was to hold influence over the Monastery, to lower their guard and slowly introduce the Word. Keep the sinners from temptation until the beasts were eradicated and the Reaping came, and she'd reunite with her brothers at the Compound, and the false shepherds were both dead.

Though once her escorts return to Joseph without her, Faith was certain he'd figure out that she was one who fell for temptation. Especially if he finds out she confessed to Paul about the plan, and aided him in setting up Joseph's arrest.

Not for Paul though. Nor for the hunters and the converts.

Joseph had given her so much; a new name, a purpose, a family, a second chance at living. Once she was a girl who could only find escape through the needle, tip-toeing between the line of life and death. And he transformed her into someone else; someone worth more. Breathing a into her a new life that she didn't think was possible within her. Nurturing her with his word, with guidance.

She let go of Tracey for him, even though she wished her best friend had stayed. She had left Rachel behind for him. She gave him the Bliss and Angels. She gave him her entire being, to mold and shape in his image.

Sure, the family he took her into wasn't perfect; despite their similarities, John resented her for the attention and praise Joseph sung of her, and she wasn't naive to think Jacob cared for her. He's sat through two sisters; really, how important would a third be?

But that hadn't mattered to her at the time; to Faith, Joseph's was all that mattered.

And that was true, for a time. Just like it had been true for Tracey. And she would always be grateful for him, just as she had been for her former friend.

But she couldn't let Silva die. Not after three painful years trying to wake her up.

Here is the OCs become color quiz results for the main four characters of Wings And Horns; Archangel Metatron, Cadet Azriel, Xiang Ba'al and Jezebel Ba'al. Read below:

ARCHANGEL METATRON

By the finale, this is most definitely true for Metatron.

CADET AZRIEL

This quiz must know Azriel's future because damn!

XIANG BA'AL

Not really Xiang's style. He's a good dad but he's also an extremist in many ways.

JEZEBEL BA'AL

Jezebel's been through some tough shit, I don't think pinning all the blame on her is really fair.

[Meet My Character for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. Specifically Courier Ryder and Alph Dolen]

And lastly Meet My Character sheets for my Courier Ryder and Alph Dolen from my A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore series.

COURIER RYDER (FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS)

Her “Pronouns” are supposed to be:

She/Her

Her "Defining Features" state: Reddish-brown hair, brown eyes, has scars from past fights on her face, one noticeably at the edge of her left brow, wears riot gear with a courier's drip but not the helmet.

ALPH DOLEN THE LONE WANDERER (FALLOUT 3)

His "Defining Features" state:

Ginger, hazel eyes, predominantly wears wasteland survivor gear with Tunnel Snakes Jacket, after being ghoulified his skin starts greying and becomes sunken, starts losing hair.

Blank Template for those who want to use it:

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